


A portent for disaster

by Montilyets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/F, Girl Penis, Hate Sex, Lab Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Montilyets/pseuds/Montilyets
Summary: Despite their mutual distaste for one another, they share many aspects of their lives. And it seems they now share the same cycle times too...
Relationships: Angela "mercy" Ziegler/ Moira O'Deorain, Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 5
Kudos: 140





	A portent for disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! I felt bad for not posting anything and so I whipped something up early this morning while trying to brush the rust off of my writing skills. (I was definitely inspired by tigole bittie's latest work "tied")  
Update: thank you all for 800 views in the last few days and to express my gratitude I decided to edit the work to make it seem a bit less janky and rushed.   
I may consider creating a series based off of the events in the story, depending on how well this does...   
Anywho leave a kudos if you enjoyed!  
(I also hope that the formatting hasn't fucked up again lol)

The lab is stifling. The AC unit in the medical wing has broken down, and according to Amari, it will be Repaired as soon as possible, tailed by an apology directed more so at Angela than her. Perhaps Moira shouldn’t be surprised; no one has come to even inspect the faulty Machinery, and Ana had made her assurances three days ago. Sweat entices Moira's black dress shirt to stick to her armpits in such a way that she doesn't bother with deodorant anymore as she's sat at her desk with her tie loosened around her neck, glowering. Moira is uncontrollably sweltering and Moira hates it

Of course, her work has taken her around the globe and will no doubt continue to thus exposing her to temperatures like this before, if not a few degrees higher. However, if Moira were to eloquently explain her particularly sour attitude, she would pin it on rather the time in which the air conditioning has broken down, rather than the incident itself.

Suddenly, her heterocromia jolts from her desktop to the flaxen yellow post-it note her palm rests beside, as her fingers grip her ball point pen hard enough for the transparent plastic to snap. "A-Ah, Apologies Commander, I shall speak with you when I'm feeling less… under the weather." At the soprano voice which resonates through the front of the lab into her office, Moira's head whips up, hair kinky and falling over her eyes (hungry and bright) due to its dampness. Fuck the eloquently written note she plans to tack against the lab door, notifying her absence; it was half scribbled anyway.

What appears to be sweat adorns the long unmarred column of the geneticist's neck and sits heavy on Moira's usually pallid skin, now flushed a rosy shade from both stifling conditions and her current condition. The translucent jelly should stick firm to her neck (as scent blockers are supposed to) yet the excess perspiration which desperately clings to her skin threatens to unlodge the formula and leave a sticky mess on her shirt. Her leg bounces. She's still focused in on her colleague, who walks over to a nearby sink and splashes her flushed cheeks with cool water.

Once mildly cooler, Angela pauses for a moment to lock eyes with the older woman and shoots her a cold stare before she parts her frown. "I would rather you not stare at me, Dr O'Deorain." It takes a lingering moment for Moira to register Angela's comment while the pitch dully rings through her ears. Her leg stops bouncing, for a few seconds, as she continues to look at Ziegler despite her remark.

Moira's neatly shaped brows furrow atop her eyes; the very woman she's stuck in the same lab with and working on the same project for months on end presses each and every one of her buttons to irk her. Ever present with her superior demeanour and self assigned position to be a pain in Moira's ass when she had the energy. It wasn't like Angela was unattractive, quite the opposite, yet Moira can't stop glaring at her as she imagines her colleague using the fact she's staring to chastise her even more.

Despite their differences, she and Angela have an unspoken dynamic, only offering usually silent truces in the wee hours in the morning where the sun threatens to set fire to the sky sharing their exhaustion, their coffee and the couch in Moira's office to sleep on at different times in the night, and regardless of their mutual distaste for one another, they share many aspects of their lives. And it seems they now share the same cycle times too.

Moira scoffs through her nose, a curt albeit brash sound. "Is something funny, O'Deorain?" Angela queries, one golden eyebrow almost perfectly arched as she leans against a counter, arms folded. Moira internally seethes as air sweeps through her nose before leaving it in a prolonged sigh. "Biology's habits are hard to break." She replies finally, mouth dry while the soft scent of alpine flowers seeps into her lungs. Perhaps if she didn’t have an ounce of intelligence or vigilance, Moira would stare wide eyed, backing herself against the furthest wall from the omega as her heart thunders in her ribcage stammering a helpless excuse to get out of the Omega’s presence. "Meaning?" When Angela goads she cocks her head to one side with the ever present glare in her eyes, fully aware that the alpha before her would more than gladly stand her ground, eyes charged and glaring at her desk like some caged beast. Angela knows fully well that Moira will allow herself a haughty smile when she finally realises that Angela isn’t controlling her biological instinct with the iron fist she conjures up in everybody elses’ heads. She’ll laugh, muttering a simple ‘typical’ and that patronising pat on her shoulder which would undoubtedly be at the forefront of Angela’s mind for the next six days of her heat. "Your scent blocker is wearing off, and you're not able to smell it." Moira explains dryly as her eyes flick up to Angela’s flushed throat which the omega tallies down to broken AC unit in the lab.

Angela's azure irises seem to widen for a moment, before reforming back to their scowl as she turns her gaze onto the alpha before her. Of course, Moira knows. Of course Moira is right about yet another thing. Of course Moira is poised to berate her, rubbing the salt in the wound with a flippant albiet cutting remark. "I think I'd know if it was wearing off, Moira." Angela retorts; Moira wasn’t winning today, and regardless of her heat, her biological vulnerability, Angela would do everything in her power to ensure it. "I am also a doctor, if you weren't aware, and I will not be made a fool of, especially by you." She seethes. Another snort leaves Moira's nose as a smile which doesn't quite reach her lips tugs at the corners of her eyes.

"Classic Angela. Classic foolish Angela." Angela's livid, Moira can easily tell as her lips twist in a tight frown and her jaw flexes by her ear. Of course the omega will take personal offence, of course she will puff out her chest and try to compensate on what she implicitly believes to be her biological disadvantage; Angela has always done it, always will do it. "I would like you to remember that I was the one who graduated medical school and became a trauma surgeon at the age of nineteen." The doctor begins as Moira can only sit idle in her seat when the former strides over to her and leans over and breaches the small area preventing their scents from intermingling, stoking their biological instincts.

A sudden uncertainty lies thick in the air, something in which Moira isn’t sure how to deal with. Instead she resigns herself to silently evaluate her situation as Angela prattles on with her usual spiel. "_I_ was the one who invented nanotechnology and a rapid healing process,_ I_ was the one who Captain Amari employed as the head of medicine." With each "_I_", her index finger prods into Moira's flushed shoulders, almost thankful that the latter doesn't respond with an eye roll or a haughty remark during her enraged tirade. "And _I_ will not take shit from you."

Moira remains silent. Angela stays still, hands now planted on the desk and back bent slightly to accomplish the position. Initially, she indulges herself with a small smile; she's reduced Moira to silence which isn’t commonplace during their arguments. However, the victory is short lived. The scent of alpine flowers greets Angela's nostrils attentively, faintly intermingled with a similar but indistinguishable scent.

Moira attentively watches Angela sniff again as the omega’s eyes focus on the moth breaths Moira sucks in. While Moira knows, Moira is also in the beginnings of her rut, which will cause the Alpha’s pheromones to overpower the scent blocker plastered on her neck if a stimuli strong enough were to present itself.

Angela curses for a moment, glancing down at the Alpha who sits completely still before her. The alpha who undoubtedly towers over almost everybody she meets, with her haughty aloof demeanour, the alpha that takes care of her work with such a refined and perfectionistic approach that Angela was left in awe when she first started to collaborate with her. A sudden wonder emerges in Angela’s mind and lingers; would Moira take care of her in the same fashion? Would she executed her Alpha’s task perfectly, mounting and completely dominating the omega beneath her, swathing her fertile womb with her seed? Perhaps, her inner omega reasons with her lightly, as if it’s already aware that it’s won over Angela’s consciousness; it wouldn't be a bad thing to bear such a powerful Alpha’s mating mark.

Angela's heat rears its ugly head and roars to life. She fails to continue the conversation.

Moira senses the kick in omega pheromones before she smells it, sucking up moth breaths through her nose in a vain attempt to remain in control. As she breaks eye contact and stares at her desk, her dress pants tighten as does the lump in her throat. On their descent, her eyes pick up on Angela’s wide birth giving hips and sparks the internal concept of her colleague being a great mother, biologically perfect to nurse a baby who would undoubtedly be as beautiful and intelligent as her mother. Coupled with Moira’s handsome genes and equally intelligent guiding hand, their offspring would be perfect. And near perfection is so close. Moira squirms in her chair at the thought; she knows that she would meet no resistance if she were to push herself inside of Angela’s slick cunt, slamming their hips together until her knot grew large enough to push in, preventing any seed from slipping out when she eventually releases inside. If Moira’s rut hadn’t begun to roar dully in her ears, the alpha would note that she’s getting too far ahead of herself, that she should leave and shove those repulsive, near objectification of her colleague down into the pit of her stomach where they sit unresponsive for three months at a time.

She hopes that Angela will step back into the front of the lab, or go to open more windows and distance herself, and frowns when Angela sniffs the air once more, feet rooted to the ground. She needs to leave before this gets out of hand. She needs to leave fast.

Moira rises to her full stature, having to tilt her head down to look at Angela's flushed face. Her footsteps are calculated, aiming to create as much distance between her and the omega as possible, rounding the desk and ready to swiftly pass her. If she moves fast enough, she could vacate to her quarters, eyes squeezed shut as she would discard her sudden acute lust for the omega before her, and her erection (the only thing that's proud of the situation in Moira's body) with the aid of her hand. The two handed grip on her shirt is the brick tied to her anchor, submerging her actions, her thoughts, her consciousness in the throes of her rut addled Alpha instinct. Moira can't bear to force a scowl on her lips; her inner alpha has what it most desires right before her face, and perhaps if she wasn't so frenzied, she would have scoffed again, making some inner joke about the inevitability of biology.

Angela's grip fades almost immediately, leaving Moira to meet her lust addled gaze, breath shallow and eyes charged. Where she goes to begin, her mouth opening for a moment to perhaps to utter a perplexed question, Angela cuts her short, standing on tiptoe and meeting the Alpha's collarbones with a deep inhale. Moira's head tilts even more as her lips crash down onto Angela's when the omega pulls back. It's a flurry of clicking teeth and domineering tongues and when Angela moans hotly into the taller's mouth, Moira instinctually returns the sound.

Dull nails scratch and cling onto the fabric of her dress shirt when Moira's hands cup the omega's ass, shamelessly grinding her erection against Angela's pencil skirt. A needy moan slips from the latter's lips at the touch, those surgeon precise hands pulling the collar of Moira's shirt until the back of Angela's legs meet a worktop. Books, notes, and other paraphernalia scatter on the ground with a thud when Angela half falls and is half shoved down onto the counter.

In a blur, Angela loops her arms around Moira's neck, Moira's pants are shoved down just below her thighs. She pauses a moment, breath escaping her mouth in hot pants. Angela's eyes lock onto hers for a few seconds. Moira stops thinking, not listening to omega choking back a sob as the swollen head of Moira’s cock slips into her slick cunt, the rest of it following suit with a few more frenzied thrusts.

Moira knows that the pace she sets is mindless, trading hurried grunts with the omega whose body rocks with every rough thrust she pummels into her. She's not sure when Angela's fist finds purchase in her hair, but the surprisingly loud groan that leaves Moira's hot mouth is matched by a moan of similar nature.

Angela's mind blanks; the prior seething irritation inflicted by moira is completely gone, and instead replaced by the urge to present, to take what's so roughly given to her, arms looping around Moira's neck and pulling her torso up to rest her nose in the Alpha's collarbones subconsciously presented by Moira's open shirt. Her moans are mindless and unmuted while her hips roll and grind on pure instinct, one hand fisted and tugging at Moira's thick locks and far too enraptured to grasp the weight of the situation. "Fuck." her mouth opens in a hot pant after she audibly swallows, uttering Moira's name with a laboured breath which she's not sure the alpha hears behind the sorority of skin slapping against skin, and Moira's rhythmic groans.

Angela goes to repeat her statement, instead emitting a loud moan as Moira's knot pushes against her folds, hot and insistent. Her mouth clicks shut at that; perhaps she shouldn't name this fleeting moment of passion which would undoubtedly change their dynamic, even though both silently hope it won't. Moira's hips stutter, the Alpha's breaths coming out laboured until she stops entirely, garnering a near frustrated moan from the omega beneath her.

With a swift motion, Angela's arms unloop from moira's neck. A growl slips past the Latter's throat amongst the swallowing gasps of air she takes when her throbbing cock slips out of the omega's folds, and with another longer push on her chest Moira is forced down to the floor to lie on her back. Angela crawls up Moira's gangly legs, kicking off her kitten heels and her panties, which hang by her ankle prior, off. This is going too fast, Angela’s consciousness whispers, barely audible above consistent wanton demands her omega wails. with a gentle hand and a soft moan, Moira suddenly doesn't care about the state of her dress pants, or that her bare ass is on the lab floor.

Angela acts recklessly this time, frantically grinding and bouncing on the Alpha's cock and moaning lowly as the knot teases her entrance. Her hands press on Moira's shoulders as the latter's hands find Angela's hips and When Moira holds her in place and slams up into her repeatedly, the omega is reduced to a wailing mess who tilts her head back and sheaths Moira back into herself when the alpha stops her periodic onslaughts.

When the first part of the knot stretches Angela's folds and slips inside of her, Moira’s stallion-esque hips attempt to buck her off. She moans brokenly as the alpha flips them over and goes to shove the rest in with Angela pinned beneath her, keening and nails biting into the Alpha's back when her legs wrap tightly around Moira's waist. Mutual panting and Moira’s laboured groans substitute the space where grunting and the explicit sonority of skin slapping filled prior. With a sticky pop, the rest of the knot sinks in when the omega seems to adhere to Moira's snarling demand to take it.

Moira releases a bestial growl- which Angela wasn’t quite sure she could do-when she comes, setting her teeth Against the omega's neck beneath her as her toes curl in her oxfords, eyes squeezed shut and legs trembling. A half smile she quickly wipes from her face emerges; her alpha had won over her consciousness, which rapidly realises that there wasn't a single precaution taken against unplanned pregnancy.

Angela’s mouth is open in a silent scream blockaded in her throat, morphing into a wail when Moira's cock pulses, flooding her canal with her seed which will undoubtedly seep onto the floor when her knot shrinks. The hands in Moira's hair turn gentle, perhaps from the lack of energy their owner possesses to yank it again as they barely guide the Alpha's lips to her own in a soft kiss.

Moira lies still atop her, turning a moment later to allow Angela to rest on her instead, which the omega mumbles her thanks for. A sigh fills Moira’s nose as her eyes attempt to count the number of burn marks that litter the lab ceiling rather than looking at the omega her knot is swollen inside, the omega with triple the chance of conceiving her fertile seed. The omega who despises everything she does and will do. What do they do now? Do they continue fucking? Do they pretend none of this happened? Do they go back to hating one another? What if Angela falls pregnant? Surely that must be a concern for the young omega atop her, someone who probably wants to marry after being satisfied enough with her medical career to take a step back and raise her own family.

Her eyes widen a fraction when Angela's lips meet her own in a surprisingly chaste kiss. "Moira, stop worrying." She mutters into her sweaty neck, which seems to throb due to the excess heat and her exertion alike. "We're both capable people, we'll figure it out." Angela's tone doesn't hold any malice and suddenly the alpha can understand _why_ she's the darling of overwatch, _why_ her fans chase after her on the street, _why_ children giggle and hug her legs, _why_ almost every male overwatch member has fallen in love with her at least once. Moira finally understands, a breath snagged in her chest which she gradually exhales.

Tentatively, the alpha hums in response, her arms wrapping around Angela's torso as her knot suddenly feels oversensitive and raw, yet she can’t bring herself to move; perhaps if she moves, her rut addled illusion would fade, and angela would still be glaring at her from across the room. Perhaps she will be after the instinctual grasp leaves their respective bodies. The stifling heat returns, not that it actually ever left, and for once, Moira O'Deorain can't be bothered to care about herself.


End file.
